Ten-year-old Grisha rushed home from school, his mother’s warning echoing in his mind: “Don’t dawdle!” The night before, a cow had calved, and Lyudmila Sergeyevna had been busy all day tending to the new mother and her calf, Zorya and the newborn.
Grisha’s thoughts weren’t on the chores he had to do — warming up lunch, washing the dishes, and finishing his homework. What excited him was the chance to see the baby calf. There was something so endearing about newborn calves: their wobbly legs, their big, curious eyes, and how they suckled from a bottle. He couldn’t wait to witness such a miracle.
He hurried along the riverbank, where the ice had melted, and the first shoots of grass were peeking out along the edges. As he approached home, he noticed an elderly woman sitting by the river, drenched from head to toe, trembling and crying.
“Hello! What happened?” Grisha asked, concerned, noticing the pile of soggy rags nearby. “Did you fall into the river?”
“No, dear, I didn’t fall. I was pushed!” the old woman sobbed, her voice shaking with cold and fear. “I was hoping to make it to the village, maybe find someone to warm me up, but a cramp hit me so hard I can’t breathe or move.”
“Wait here! I’ll be right back!” Grisha shouted before running off to the village.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna had just returned from the barn, washed up, and lay down to rest. Zorya, however, was being stubborn, refusing to give milk. It seemed she didn’t want to share it, probably worried that there wouldn’t be enough for her calf, Mike, the little one born in May. Lyudmila didn’t want to let Mike near Zorya just yet; she wanted him to learn how to drink from a bucket instead of relying on the mother’s milk.
From the window, Lyudmila could hear the sounds of the barn. She had just begun to relax when Grisha burst in, slamming the door behind him.
“Grisha, is that you?” she called out. “Why are you slamming the door? Is something wrong?”
“No, Mom, no fire, but worse! Someone’s dying by the river!” he exclaimed.
Lyudmila quickly jumped up, alarmed. “Who is it?”
“An old woman, all wet. She says someone pushed her into the river, and now she’s freezing and can’t move. I’ll bring her something warm!”
“Goodness!” Lyudmila exclaimed, immediately rushing to the cupboard. “Here, take your father’s old sheepskin coat and scarf. Wait a minute!” she added, a thought coming to her. “Let’s use the cart for the milk cans. We might need it!”
Grisha hurried to the shed, where he pulled out the cart Lyudmila used to transport milk to the main road. She quickly covered it with a sheepskin, placed her late husband’s coat on top, and with her son, they rushed toward the river.
By the time they arrived, the old woman had fallen to the ground, curled up from the cold. Lyudmila hurriedly covered her with the coat and gently helped her onto the cart. The woman, barely conscious, looked around with unfocused eyes but managed a weak smile.
“Don’t worry, Grandma, you’ll be alright,” Lyudmila reassured her, and together with Grisha, they brought the woman home.
After giving her a hot bath, food, and tea, the elderly woman, Ksenia Petrovna, didn’t know how to express her gratitude.
“God bless you, children. You have such kind hearts! Thank you, Lyudochka, for raising such a good son!”
“Don’t mention it, Ksenia Petrovna, anyone would have done the same,” Lyudmila said modestly, but Baba Asya, as she preferred to be called, disagreed.
“Don’t say that. Someone pushed me into that river!”
Lyudmila, eager to understand more, invited her to share the story. She sent Grisha to play with the calf and sat down with Baba Asya.
“I lived with my eldest son in a large house,” Baba Asya began. “Everything was fine until his first wife, Lenochka, passed away. She took care of me, made sure I had my medicine. After Lenochka passed, my son, Vitalik, brought home a new wife, Mila — a beautiful, young woman. And she didn’t like me one bit.”
Baba Asya wiped away a tear. “She’d watch me constantly. ‘Where are you going, Mom? You’re bringing dust into the house.’ She’d complain about the smell of my medicines and even threw all my pills away. I put up with it, trying not to cause trouble.”
One day, her son’s wife forbade her from leaving her room entirely. After some time, Baba Asya asked to visit her younger son in the village. “She finally agreed, but when we reached the bridge over the river, she stopped the car. She pointed across the water and said, ‘That’s where your village is.’”
And then, without warning, she pushed Baba Asya into the river, leaving her to drown. By some miracle, the water wasn’t deep, and she managed to get out, though the bag she had with her was ruined.
“I don’t remember much after that. I was lucky the shore was shallow. But that’s how my daughter-in-law got rid of me…”
Lyudmila was in shock. She wanted to call the police, but Baba Asya stopped her.
“God will judge her. I don’t need to testify,” she said quietly.
“Where will you go now?” Lyudmila asked.
“I’ll make my way to Lozovaya. That’s where my younger son is. He has a farm there,” Baba Asya replied.
Lyudmila nodded. “I’ve heard of him. Isn’t he a famous philanthropist?”
“Yes, Vitalik and I are from Lozovaya,” Baba Asya said with pride. “When he moved to the city, he took me with him to care for me.”
Just then, Grisha returned, his face flushed from running and covered in hay.
“What happened to you, Grish? Were you playing in the hay?” his mother asked, pulling twigs from his hair.
“No, I was with Mike! I climbed into the stall and lay next to him, and he licked my face! What a rough tongue!”
Lyudmila smiled, relieved. “Grishenka, do you remember we have guests coming on Saturday?”
“Of course! I’ve been practicing everything. I’m ready!”
“Great!” Lyudmila said cheerfully. “Ksenia Petrovna, stay with us until Saturday, and then we’ll take you to your son.”
“I can’t stay three extra days,” Baba Asya replied. “I’ll make my way to Lozovaya on my own.”
“No, no, no!” Lyudmila insisted. “You’ll stay with us, rest, wash your clothes, and we’ll get you fresh bags.”
Baba Asya smiled, though it was clear she felt uncomfortable about the extra laundry. “Well, if you insist.”
Three days later, Baba Asya had cleaned up and dressed in a new outfit. When Lyudmila saw her, she was amazed.
“Ksenia Petrovna, you look beautiful!” she said.
“Oh, if only my hair hadn’t turned so gray,” Baba Asya smiled wistfully.
That evening, there was a celebration at the school for its tenth anniversary. When Viktor Rudkovsky arrived, he surprised everyone by presenting flowers to the teachers, including Baba Asya, whom he recognized as a former educator.
At the end of the evening, Viktor took Baba Asya aside. “What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised.
“I’ll tell you at home, Vitenka. If it weren’t for Grisha and Lyudmila…”
The next day, Viktor invited Lyudmila and Grisha to dinner. He also brought a milking machine as a gift, understanding how much work it took for Lyudmila to milk by hand.
In the weeks that followed, Viktor’s visits became regular. He was always there to offer help, sometimes alone, sometimes with gifts. His affection for Lyudmila grew, and eventually, they married. Viktor moved everything to Lozovaya, and Grisha transferred to the local school.
As the months passed, Baba Asya flourished in the warmth of the family. And when Viktor’s brother arrived with bad news about his wife, Ksenia Petrovna couldn’t help but feel that her family had finally come together.
Grisha, for his part, was thrilled with his new bicycle, the symbol of his newfound sense of belonging and happiness. Life had changed for all of them, and it was for the better.